


Gearshaft

by sister_coyote



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Airship, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot, Vehicular Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-22
Updated: 2009-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_coyote/pseuds/sister_coyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Perhaps that's because we all secretly want to make love to our creations."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gearshaft

Edgar hadn't _meant_ to break into the engine room. He understood privacy, really he did; he had his own personal workshops, and he would have been most put out to find someone nosing around the gears of Figaro Castle. And he did have some restraint.

But.

But the gentle purr of the Falcon's engines were too much a temptation: alluring as soft laughter or a whiff of perfume, infiltrating his dreams as he slept in his cabin's narrow bed. Such a subtle sound, the Falcon's engines, no harsh grinding or whines of effort. The engine must run with poised efficiency, perfect as a dancer; the gears must fit together smooth as oiled glass . . . .

He lurked his way to the trapdoor that lead to the airship's humming belly, laid his hand on it and felt the stronger throb of the engines, then tried the latch.

Unlocked. Well. That was nearly an _invitation_.

He slipped down the ladder into the belly of the beast, where the Falcon's sweeping luxury gave way to narrow, utilitarian corridors, catwalks of steel spiderwebbed over the humming mechanisms of the ship . . . .

Funny that he should be more comfortable here than he was in the rest of the luxurious interior. He was, after all, a king. But Figaro was no normal king's castle.

He paused a moment, looking around to sort out the layout: the great central engine, radiating not a purr now but a steady thrum-thrum-thrum that rattled him through his teeth to his bones—powered, if his nose was any guess, partly with stored etheric energy but mostly with steam from the great seething boilers. The fractal curves of the gearworks spinning out from it: six twining port and starboard to power the propellers, one thick gearshaft straight to the aft of the ship, for the motor that powered the bulk of the forward propulsion. Ah, yes: the airsac and the lower propellers for lift, the side propellers for maneuverability, and the aft motor to speed them on their way.

And there were the delicate curlicues, the gearworks that ran the secondary systems: one providing the etheric power used in the lighting system, one that ran the water-pumps (he'd been surprised to discover that the Falcon had hot-running baths, although surprised in a pleased way), and more for the complex system of fins that made the Falcon more maneuverable than any airship he'd ever seen.

In some ways it wasn't that different than the deep belly of Figaro Castle: the powerful motors that propelled it through its tunnels, the boring drill and fins that moved sand and earth out of the way to clear the path, the secondary systems that ran—yes—the water systems, though that was less a luxury and more a necessity in sandy Figaro, where you needed to dig deep and pump strong to bring up enough clean water for a castle full of people.

Familiar and yet different. And yet familiar enough that he didn't even have to think before picking a ladder to descend, to wind his way along the delicate line of gears that powered the lights and follow them to the monstrous thumping heart of the engine, to lay his hand on it and feel it pulsing through his body. Very much like lying close to the body of a lover and feeling their heartbeat against your own body. Very like . . .

He wasn't surprised at all to hear the voice behind him—that familiar-yet-odd combination of cultured and underclass that was perfectly Setzer—saying, "I don't believe I invited you into my engine room."

"You didn't have to," Edgar said without turning around. "Her invitation was enough," and he thumped the engine soundly with a fist.

"There's a thing," Setzer said. "You and I—indeed, most men—call airships 'she.' Darill nearly always said 'he.'"

"Well," Edgar said, turning without taking his hand from the smooth chassis of the engine, to face Setzer's odd blue-lavender eyes, the faint quirked smile twisting his scars, "perhaps that's because we all secretly want to make love to our creations."

"Or not so secretly," Setzer said, and his gaze tracked downward, and that was, truth be told, the first that Edgar realized he was hard. The engine. The vibrations—

It might have been embarrassing, but Edgar decided to believe that it wasn't, and so it wasn't. "Well," he said, "whether the Falcon is 'he' or 'she' doesn't matter so very much to me."

"Ah," Setzer said, "you're like _that_, are you?" The expression on his face gave no sign of judgement, though.

"From time to time." Rarely. The truth was that Edgar did prefer women, but there had been a few men. Most memorably there had been Locke, before all this, when they had both been a bit lonely and a bit horny, when he had been locked down with the necessities of rulership, when Locke had been . . . sufficiently hung up about women that his only real chance of mutual orgasm without days of self-recrimination and self-loathing was sex with a man instead. It had been—a pleasure, yes, that was the word: pleasure between friends, _very_ enjoyable, he didn't regret it. But it had never been much more than friendship, it had never been meant to last, and anyway now Locke had Celes, and those two stared at each other in a way that made him think that his trysts with Locke were a thing of the past. (Unless Celes was interested in two men at once . . . but, no, best not to get one's hopes up. Not yet, anyway.) But—yes, it was no lie; from time to time, and he enjoyed it when it came his way.

"Hm," said Setzer, and smiled, so strangely, so wickedly. "Perhaps there is not so much difference between sex _with_ an airship and sex _within_ an airship."

"Perhaps," Edgar said. It did not escape his attention that Setzer had changed his phrase—'make love'—to simply 'have sex.' Perhaps it was simply that Setzer was not of a sentimental bent, but more likely, more likely Setzer thought of love and thought of one person, and she a dead woman. But then perhaps to have sex within her ship—with her ship, by proxy—was the closest he could come now to having sex with her. Edgar straightened his shoulders and considered Setzer, and did not make any secret of his consideration: looked him up and down with care and concentration as he would a woman to whom he wanted to pay his attentions. When he stood up quite straight he realized that he was taller than Setzer, which he would not have guessed. Perhaps he would not have guessed it because Setzer was so lean, so slender that he looked taller than he was—lean and slender and white as a serpent. White hair and white skin and silver-white scars, and strange eyes that were nearly purple . . . .

More attractive than some people he'd bedded, Edgar decided, and assuredly more experienced, and—most important of all—highly unlikely to be hurt by it if nothing came of it. He did not like to hurt people.

It was Setzer who moved first: of course it was, Setzer the pilot-gambler. Edgar was an engineer and a king, and therefore more circumspect by duty if not by nature, but he appreciated initiative in other people. (It had also been one of Locke's charms.) Setzer touched his cheekbone with an almost proprietary air but also an admiring one, like an art collector examining a new piece, and then kissed him.

He kissed like a snake, too, Edgar thought: swift and light and fluttering. But still quite well, and it was no wonder he was the lover of divas and adventuresses—Edgar felt his pulse pick up, rising in tune with the smooth cyclic whirr of the engine behind him. Setzer's kiss did not press one back, it lured one forward, so that Edgar realized that _he_ was the one taking a step to close the gap between them, to kiss more forcefully. How many women before had been tricked by his manner into pursuing _Setzer_ instead of the other way around? A strange way to dominate, and yet effective, because Edgar without even thinking about it now had a hand on Setzer's shoulder to pull him closer, and was breathing the smell of Setzer's spicy-astringent cologne, overlaid with the hot smell of machinery. He could feel his breath pick up, his veins simmer with the familiar rising whine of arousal.

"Hmm," Setzer said, and smiled.

Edgar kept his hand tight on Setzer's shoulder and took a step back, bringing Setzer with him until he had the thrumming chassis of the engine at his back and Setzer in front, pressing him up against the warm metal and kissing him. The vibrations and the heat rattled through him and buzzed into the kiss, and Setzer made a startled noise and then a pleased one and kissed him more firmly, so that the engine's long humming cycles shuddered through them both. And then . . . Edgar's pants were open. Gambler's fingers almost as clever as thief's fingers, especially if the gambler ever dabbled in cheating.

"She is a fine ship," Edgar said against Setzer's mouth, and then turned his head a little to breathe so that he was speaking into the glossy silvered scars on Setzer's cheek. Strange that the seemed not at all disfiguring. "Powerful, but she runs smooth as velvet." Setzer's grip ran, lazy but firm, from the base of Edgar's erection to the tip; his thumb swiped the top and Edgar's hips jerked without asking his brain for permission, but just as fast as the caress had begun it was over and Setzer's hand was back at the base, holding him tight and steady.

"Why, thank you," Setzer said, his eyes narrow and amused. "I'm glad you have such a fine appreciation."

"But I think if you'd let me I could increase the efficiency of the power to your electrical systems, perhaps by as much as ten percent," Edgar continued, and then laughed as Setzer tensed against him. He sifted his fingers through Setzer's thick white hair where it lay against his hand on Setzer's shoulder.

"You'll have to prove to me that you have a skillful hand and a discerning eye before I let you root around in her innards."

"I should think I've already proved the eye," Edgar said, and then he unhooked the lacings on Setzer's trousers and had them down as well, "and as for the hand—"

Hands it was. Well, that was the best choice; he had no condoms on him. (Funny; he hadn't thought them necessary for exploring an airship.) Nor lube, and no one who had actually worked with an engine would dream of using _any_ of the fluids used in their mechanisms within a human body. Besides, this would save them the trouble of negotiating a position. He stripped off his glove with his teeth and wrapped his hand—tight, tight—around Setzer.

He took a slow rhythm, partly because he was in no hurry, partly because Setzer didn't seem the type for 'fast and dirty' so much as the type for luxury, but mostly because he let the slow cycling rhythms of the airship engine at his back drive him. Up with the high whine at the top of a cycle, down with the lower pitch as the loop reset, and as he tipped his head back into another kiss and closed his eyes he could almost believe, not that he was making love _to_ the ship but perhaps that, yes, it was a third party in the engagement. All the more so with the mingling scent of Setzer's cologne and the familiar earthy-chemical smells of engine fluids—

Pleasure rose slowly, a tightening coil, a turning interlock very much like the gears behind him but instead of smooth the sensations grew sharper, more ragged, more frenetic. Setzer placed both his palms flat on either side of Edgar's head—to feel the Falcon's rhythms more closely, Edgar had to assume—and made a very low noise that Edgar didn't recognize as orgasm until he felt Setzer's erection throb in his hand and warmth spill over him.

He let himself relax backward against the chassis, feel the vibrations and let them drive him to his own completion, and afterwards, as he blinked the daze from his eyes and tried to catch his breath, the steady thrum lulled him.

Setzer tucked himself back into his pants with a little smile, smoothed his clothes. And then he said, "I shall leave the engine-room door unlocked more often in the future."

"Does that mean I can tinker with the electrical system?"

Setzer's eyes narrowed in an expression that said, _Don't press your luck_, but what he said was, "We shall see."


End file.
